i remember first reading the giver when i was probably eleven or twelve.  it made a mark on me, being a voracious reader, i probably read hundreds of books throughout middle/high school, but i remember that one.

i was running on the trail the other day, just thinking about it.  the task of holding pain, the task of holding memory.  most who have seen my level of loss are in their seventies and eighties, and it doesn't seem so bad at that point to see all these pages being ripped from your book, because you know that your story is getting ready to come to a close.  the chapters are almost done and although the cross is getting quite heavy, it is almost time to put it down.  that is what seems so much, the weight of this cross for my expected lifetime... it seems insane.

and of course, none of us are promised days, and while i could die tomorrow, a 29 year old caucasian female non-smoker, runner... i would say the odds are in my favor.

it would seem to me that although people would say that i could expect it to change or get easier, in a large way my life only gets increasingly difficult.  the weight of the yoke is not getting lighter.  and it is so so difficult for me to have any compassion towards those who i feel only increase its weight.  and that's on me, right?  my pain does not diminish the pain of those around me, simply because i am in more does not mean that other's don't hurt.

where's the damn remote?  i want to fast forward my life.